


Fire and Ice

by NightTriumphant



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Lesbian Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Dorks in Love, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Kings & Queens, Kissing, Lesbian Sex, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Season/Series 03, Sexual Content, True Love, Vaginal Fingering, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 04:53:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10210025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightTriumphant/pseuds/NightTriumphant
Summary: Queens of Fire and Ice, that’s what their people called them. Lexa was flames and ember and ash. Clarke was crystal and mist and snow.And they belonged together. Lexa kom Trikru and Clarke kom Skaikru, ruling together, side by side, as queens of the Northern continent. Queens of Fire and Ice.





	

Sweat ran down Clarke’s face as she ran across the battlefield. It burned in her eyes, but she didn’t wipe it away. The gun in her hand felt heavy, after holding it for hours, and her legs shook slightly in effort. How long had she been fighting? It must have been for hours, but she wasn’t sure.

The sun stood low in the distance, dipping the blood-soaked field in golden light, putting a glamour over the brutality. Clarke stumbled over a body. A dead body, twisted vulgarly. Clarke cursed violently. There were too many bodies. So much death.

Clarke kept running. She had to find Lexa.

They led different armies: Lexa the one that fought with weapons of steel, and Clarke the one that had guns. But after hours of slaughter, all order was gone, armies were scattered across the open field and Clarke no longer cared. She had to find Lexa, had to make sure she was okay.

They were at war. After years of trying to find peace, they were once again at war and Clarke was so, so sick of it.

The Coalition of Clans had become the most powerful nation of the Northern continent, thanks to Arkadia’s technology and the grounder’s skill in warfare. Word had gotten to another continent in the South, a distant land ruled by a ruthless king; word about their growing wealth and power. And so the king had sent his armies to their lands and declared war. It was stupid war, in Clarke’s opinion. Now especially, since the Southern continent no longer desired their land. After only a month of fighting, they had withdrawn most of their armies, realising that the North was by far superior. Now they fought at the border. Or what they thought was the border and which the South refused to accept. They thought the North was trying to take their lands. Marcus Kane had tried to negotiate a treaty, one that established where one continent ended and the other began, but they had sent Kane back, his face coloured in various shades of purple, the aftermath of a terrific beating, and declared war once more.

And Clarke hated it.

She hated that she could never quite let go of the fear whispering words in her mind until she felt like slamming her head against a wall just to get that voice out of her head. _What if Lexa is dead? What if she didn’t make it this time? Sure, she’s good, but she’s not immortal. What if one of these bodies is hers? Mutilated, broken – dead_.

Clarke ran faster. Where was Lexa? Where the hell –

A flash of silver, a cry of pain and a body slamming into her. Clarke stumbled, gun in her hand and a finger on the trigger, but – It was Lexa. Lexa, who had killed the man now lying at her feet. Blood welled from a wound in his chest and his open mouth.

“Lexa”, she said, her voice barely more than a sigh of relief.

“What are you doing here, Clarke?” Lexa’s eyes scanned her, head to toe. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. It was just worried about you.”

“As always”, Lexa said with a smile.

“Yes.” Clarke wanted to kiss her. But not here, not when death was all around them, thickening the air.

“Watch out!”

Clarke was on the ground before she even realised what was happening. Arrows hit the earth, missing her by inches. The heavy smell of blood and mud filled her nose, her mouth, choking her.

She could hear steel clashing against steel, ragged breaths and a cry of hatred and pain.

Lexa.

Clarke pushed herself to her elbows. Where was her gun? She had dropped it. Her fingers searched for something, _anything_ , to defend herself with. To defend Lexa with. She found a knife in the belt of the dead man beside her and she got to her feet, her blonde hair slashing through the air as she spun around, ready to send anyone who threatened Lexa straight into the endless depth of hell.

Lexa was fighting four men. Men who were all taller, broader than her and armed heavily to the teeth. But Lexa hadn’t been chosen commander for nothing.

She was fighting with deadly rage, at a speed that made Clarke’s head spin. Her body moved swiftly, with an almost unnatural agility, dancing on the fine line between beauty and brutality.

Death incarnate, that’s what she was. Death incarnate, the warrior they wrote songs about and immortalized in countless stories they told at night sitting around fires.

It made Clarke’s heart ache just to watch her. Her beautiful, lethal wife. Her love, her everything. Her very heart and soul.

Lexa swirled around, hair whipping through the air, and slashed her sword through skin and flesh and bone. It was murder, but it was glorious and dazzling in its elegance.

Clarke couldn’t take her eyes of Lexa. Not when she tore the men apart, piece by piece. Not when Lexa let out a roar that shook the world around them. Not when her lips curled back into a wicked grin.

More men approached them, and Lexa rushed through them like a mighty storm, painting the earth with their blood. So powerful, so vicious. And Clarke stood back, not because she was a coward or startled by the violence – but because she wanted to _watch_.

They all feared Lexa, despite their superiority in size and build. Clarke could see it in their eyes, even as they raised their weapons and struck to kill. They were terrified of her and Clarke had never been more in love with Lexa.

With brutality and strength in each movement, merciless and vicious down to her very core, Lexa slaughtered each warrior in a matter of moments.

 _Wanheda_  they had once called Clarke. Commander of Death. It was a name she had thought an insult, a painful reminder of what she had done. But now she knew that the name was undeserved, because despite the lives she had taken, each death had been an act of fear and pragmatism and perhaps hate. It should not have earned her a title like this. Not a title others had feared and hunted her for. But Lexa, with her lethal skill – she should have been given this name. Because this, her brutal elegance, deserved a name people only whispered behind closed doors. Whispered in praise and dread, admiration and terror. Lexa was death incarnate; she brought hell onto this earth and Clarke loved her for it.

Lexa buried her sword in the last man’s chest and he became just another lifeless body in a field of death. And then there was only silence. Today’s battle was over. Their enemy’s remaining army fled back to their camp, and in the distance, their side sounded the horn of victory.

Lexa said something, and even though Clarke couldn’t hear her, she still knew the words. _Your fight is over. Yu gonplei ste odon_.

“We won today’s battle”, Lexa said, her back still turned to Clarke, gaze wandering across the battlefield. “And we will win this war, very soon.”

“I know”, Clarke said. They had battled war with the grounders, Mount Weather and A.L.I.E. And even if it had left scars, they had overcome it. And they would overcome this.

“You fought well today”, Lexa said, turning around. The war paint in her face was smudged. Sweat had washed away some of the black.

“So did you.” Clarke’s voice was hoarse. She took a few steps towards Lexa.

Lexa smiled softly. “I’m beyond grateful that you are alright”, she said. “If anything happened to you, I would –“

“Raise hell”, Clarke said. “Burn this world to the ground.”

Lexa nodded. “I love you”, she said.

“And I love you.”

They were standing close, suddenly. Close enough that Clarke could feel Lexas hot breath on her skin, that she could see the flecks of gold in her green eyes. Her gaze flicked to her soft lips.

Oh, how badly she wanted to kiss her. But they couldn’t. Not here, not while they were standing in the midst of blood and destruction and death.

The longing seemed to break her apart. Her chest ached, ached of love and desire. She licked her lips in anticipation of the kiss they would share as soon as they were back at their camp.

The sun slowly disappeared in the distance, behind the canopy of the forest, setting the sky on fire. The brown in Lexas hair caught the light, reflecting the burning colours.

Queens of Fire and Ice, that’s what their people called them.

Fire and Ice.

Lexa was flames and ember and ash. Clarke was crystal and mist and snow.

And they belonged together.

Their old titles forgotten. No longer known as Lexa, the Commander of the Thirteen Clans, and Clarke, the Ambassador of the Sky People. But Lexa kom Trikru and Clarke kom Skaikru, now ruling together, side by side, as queens of the Northern continent. Queens of Fire and Ice.

“We should get back”, Clarke said huskily.

Lexa nodded. “We should.”

She reached out her hand and Clarke took it. And together, as queens of the most powerful nation to ever exist on these lands, they marched across the battlefield and towards the burning sky beyond.

 

***

 

“Today was a victory”, Clarke said, her voice breaking the silence that filled the air of their tent and the night outside. Their people listened attentively as she went on, “Our enemy’s army retreated before nightfall. They lost many men, but so did we. These men died a warrior’s death and we will not forget their sacrifice.” She put her hand to her heart. “ _Yu gonplei ste odon_.” The words were repeated by every man and woman in the camp. 

“The war is not over yet”, Lexa continued. “And we cannot let this victory get to our heads. A warrior should never be arrogant. Let tomorrow be better than today. Let us grow together. _Oso throu daun ogeda_! Invincible! Unyielding! Victorious!”

The men repeated as one: “ _Oso throu daun ogeda._ ” _We fight together_. “Invincible! Unyielding! Victorious!”

“When the sun rises again, we will stand as one. _Oso throu daun ogeda._ And we will win this war and return home!”, Clarke said and her voice drowned in the deafening cheers of their warriors.

Invincible. Unyielding. Victorious.

People raised their swords into the air, or their fists and they repeated the words over and over. There was Bellamy, in the first row. His dark curls hid most of the bruises in his face. He smiled, when he noticed Clarkes look on him and she smiled back. Octavia stood beside him; hair tied back, war paint and blood still on her skin. And there were Murphy, and Jasper, and Monty, and Kane. All their friends. Alive.

Clarke felt Lexas eyes on her and she turned her head. Their eyes met, and in silent conversation they took each other’s hand and sat down on their thrones. Their people chanted their names; drums played a song of loss and victory and the burning torches let shadows dance through the tent.

They celebrated the day’s victory till the exhaustion caught up with them. There was wine and food and music. The war’s end was near and everyone felt it. Soon they would go home. To Polis or Arkadia or whatever clan the people belonged to. Clarke and Lexa would return to Polis, the capital.

Home.

Lexa was her home now. But Polis was where they could sleep in a bed, not a tent, where the food was better, the people happier. They would leave the fear and the worries behind and perhaps there would finally be... peace.

They were a nation of warriors, but they all dreamed of peace. And after all they had been though, they deserved it. They needed it. And soon, they would have it.

Most people went back to their tents. To sleep, to make love, to pray to the gods of war to spare them for another day. Clarke and Lexa sat on their thrones until the last person had left, leaving only them and their guards. Lexa dismissed the guards with a flick of her hand and then they were alone.

Alone at last. After hours of waiting, waiting to do – _this_. Lexa leaned over and Clarke’s breath caught in her throat when her lips met hers. Finally.

They kissed fiercely, passionately, freeing all the emotions they were not allowed to show on the battlefield or around their people.

Lexa got up from her throne. Clarke refused to let go off her hand and it made Lexa smile. “Come back”, Clarke said, pouting. Lexa cocked her head to one side. Amusement flickered in her green eyes and reluctantly, Clarke let her go. After weeks of fighting and fearing for Lexa’s life day and night, this distance felt like too much, like a part of her had been ripped off. And she wanted, _needed,_ Lexa. Her touch, her lips on hers, only a few layers of clothing between them.

Clarke watched intently, as Lexa slowly opened her cloak. The heavy fabric landed on the floor, followed by her armour and weapons. Clarke groaned impatiently. There were knives in her belt, hidden in her boots, tied to her thighs. She removed them all, slowly, until she wore only tight, leather pants and a loose, black shirt.

Lexa went down on her knees and looked up at Clarke, her expression clouded. Her fingers found the laces of her boots, opened them and threw them somewhere. Their eyes locked and Lexa continued undressing her. She opened her cloak, the lacing of her shirt and pants. Her shirt fell open, revealing Clarke’s heavy breasts and the necklace dangling between them. The necklace Lexa had given her as a promise – a promise to never leave her, to love her to the end of days and to protect her with her life. 

Taken by the memory, Clarke leaned forward to kiss Lexa, slow and loving. They took their time tasting each other, savouring the soft touch. Then Lexa kissed her jaw, neck, collarbone. And finally, the delicate skin of her cleavage. Clarke closed her eyes, focusing entirely on the feeling of Lexas mouth on her body.

Her shirt was ripped open. Lexa pushed Clarke’s thighs apart, and then her hands were on Clarke’s hips and her mouth – oh lord, her mouth was on her breasts, her nipples, biting, licking them.

Clarke let out a deep moan.

The cool night sent a soft breeze over her naked body, making her shiver. Her entire body became sensitive as Lexa touched her. Touched her breasts, her hips, her thighs. Clarke spread her legs a little wider, a silent invitation.

And Lexa understood. She always understood.

Clarke pushed up her hips, so Lexa could take off her pants and undergarments and then she was naked – stark naked, dressed in nothing but the golden light of the torches.

Lexa eyed her hungrily, gaze wandering across the soft lines of her body. Her lips formed a single word, before she tossed the clothes on the ground. _Beautiful_. And then they kissed, wildly, unbound. Monsters unleashed, giving in to their desire.

Lexa hands were on her, Clarke grabbed her brown hair, pulling her closer. Their tongues met and fell into an impetuous rhythm, tasting each other greedily.

Lexa removed her lips once again, leaving trails of kisses down her neck, her chest, her stomach. Further and further until – until she reached the aching spot between Clarke’s thighs.

Clarke opened her legs obediently and Lexa looked at her one last time, seeking silent permission, before she lowered her mouth.

Clarke had to bite her lip to stop the moan that tore through her very core. Lexa’s tongue found the right spot, and Clarke, who had been waiting for this for way too long, was overwhelmed by the sensation. She threw her head back and let Lexa feast on her – feast on her right there, on the throne, and Clarke had never felt more like a queen.

Then she no longer cared to be silent. Should their people hear her, should they hear how skilful Lexa was with her mouth, her tongue, and how desperate Clarke was for more. And so she cried out in pleasure, loud and unrestrained. Lexa chuckled, mouth still on her, and the feeling of breath tickling her there almost sent her over the edge.

Clarke swore. She dug her nails into the wood of her throne, to keep herself from falling apart. Lexa knew how close she was. Tension was spreading in her body. Her centre was aching, dripping with arousal, and Lexa drank up the sweet taste of her.

Just when Clarke was certain she’d loose her mind, Lexa dipped her tongue inside her, flicked the tip over the sensitive areas there. By the time she continued circling the clit with that passionate, loving softness, Clarke could no longer hold back. She let out an ear-shattering cry of pleasure, lust filling every inch of her body, and then relief washed through her, swallowing her whole.

The orgasm left her sweaty, her limps weak and her breathing heavy. Clarke opened her eyes, pleasure still making her dizzy, and found Lexa looking at her. Her green eyes were full of love, so full of undying love that it hurt her heart.

“What?” Clarke said, smiling. She brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Lexa, still on her knees, smiled back. “Nothing.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” Clarke leaned back in her chair, and nudged Lexa’s shoulder with her toes. “Let me repay the favour.”

Lexa obeyed. She got to her feet and sat down on Clarke’s lap, legs dangling over the armrest. When their lips met this time, they took their time, each movement careful, testing. Clarke could taste herself on Lexa’s lips, and the thought of where that mouth had been just a moment before took away all the exhaustion. She deepened the kiss, desire already welling up from within her.

Someone cleared their throat and Clarke made an irritated noise. _Not now_.

One of their guards was standing in the entrance of their tent, cautiously avoiding a glance in their direction. “Marcus Kane wishes to speak to you.”

“Tell him to wait”, Clarke said, aware of the fact that the only thing covering her nakedness was Lexa’s body.

“He says it’s urgent.”

Clarke and Lexa looked at each other, silently discussing what to do. Then Lexa said, “He may enter in a moment.”

“Yes, your Majesty.” The guard bowed to the waist, before stepping out of the tent, leaving them, once again, alone.

“You should get dressed”, Lexa said.

“Oh really?”, Clarke replied, mischief glimmering in her blue eyes. “I thought I’d just greet Kane like this. I thought that since he’s bedding my mother now, that’d be the appropriate thing to do.”

Lexa flicked her nose. “You are insufferable”, she said, before she picked up Clarke’s clothes and tossed them at her. “Get dressed”, she ordered, and Clarke did as she was told.

 

***

 

Marcus Kane was not stupid and he knew all too well what had been going on before he entered the tent. “My queens”, he said as he bowed.

“Rise”, Lexa and Clarke ordered simultaneously. They were both dressed again, in armour and cloak, sitting beside each other on their thrones. “Why did you wish to see us?”

“As you know, Octavia has been spying on our enemy.” Clarke nodded. Octavia had perfected the art of becoming a shadow. No one saw her unless she wanted to, and she moved as silently as a morning breeze. So they sent her into the enemy’s camp ever night, to see if she could find out anything useful. “They plan to attack in the morning. They are sending men. Not to kill us, but to burn our supplies.”

Clarke straightened. “They are getting desperate.”

“They know we are about to win this war”, Lexa said, her expression revealing no emotion, but Clarke sensed what she felt nevertheless. Triumph. Triumph over what this meant. If they were already frantic enough to attack not them but go for their supplies, choosing a coward’s way, then now was the time for negotiations. Now was the time to play.

Lexa turned her head to Clarke and Clarke nodded. “Send Bellamy and a few men into the woods two hours before dawn. They are to wait for the men and kill them all – except one. This one will send word to the king.” The grin on Lexa’s face was vicious.

Kane inclined his head. “And what message shall he bring the king, my queen?”

“Tell him”, Clarke said, “that we will give him a chance to win this war – one last chance. A single combat, between one of his men and one of ours. Whoever wins will determine the terms of a new treaty between our continents.”

Kane’s eyes flicked from Lexa to Clarke. After all this time, he was still surprised by their alignment, how they managed to communicate without words, through a bond that went too deep for anyone to understand.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked hesitantly.

“They will never beat us in single combat”, Clarke said, turning her head to her right. “Not as long as we have Lexa.”

Lexa smiled at her. This was another thing they had silently agreed on. Lexa would fight whoever their enemy picked as an opponent. She was the most powerful warrior of her time. No one would beat her. The king’s champion wouldn’t stand a chance.

“As you wish”, Kane said, before bowing once again. Lexa dismissed him with a nod and he stepped out into the night.

Lexa got up from her chair, rolling her shoulders. “We should get some sleep” She held out a hand to help Clarke to her feet.

Clarke, who knew exactly what would happen as soon as they got to their tent, jumped to her feet and said, “After you.”

 

***

 

They barely made it to their tent before they were only a tangle of limps in the darkness. Stumbling over boots and clothes and weapons, they crushed into the soft fur of their bedding, ripping off each other’s clothes within a matter of moments.

“You’re killing me, do you know that?” Clarke said, as she tore off Lexa’s shirt, baring her chest. She lowered her mouth, sucking on the sweet skin of Lexa’s shoulder.

“I could say the same thing about you”, Lexa said, closing her eyes, giving in to Clarke’s touch.

It was so dark that Clarke could barely see where she tossed the remaining pieces of clothing and then they were both naked. Clarke broke the kiss to light the torches around their bed, before she jumped back into the fur, attacking Lexa with her mouth.

Lexa giggled, actually _giggled_ , and Clarke wondered if it was possible to love someone so much it killed you. It hurt to see Lexa like this, hurt in the best possible way. She looked so young, so carefree, so _happy_. Not like the heartless commander she had first met, but a young woman, full of hope and love. And Clarke felt incredibly proud to be the one that made her this way. 

She couldn’t keep the smile from her lips as they kissed – and laughed. Low, quiet laughs of utter happiness. “Stop it”, she said, flicking Lexa’s nose. They both looked at each other, trying to remain serious, but broke into laughter again.

They turned to their backs. Lexa put an arm over her head and Clarke snuggled into her naked body. With her fingers she drew lines on her chest, imagining what it would be like if she had a brush and some paint. She used to draw all over the walls and floors of her prison cell, dreaming of a better life. Life on the ground. But never had she dreamed her life could one day be anything like this – hadn’t dared.

“Your body is a work of art”, Clarke said, as she continued to trace the well-defined lines of Lexa’s stomach. “If I tried painting it, it would never do it justice.”

“Is that why you never show me your paintings of me?”

“I want them to be perfect before I show you. I want them to be perfect for you.”

“I’m sure they’re already perfect”, Lexa said, pushing Clarke’s chin up with her fingers, sealing her lips with a kiss.

Clarke pushed herself up on her elbows. Lexa waited patiently as Clarke studied her, drinking in the sight. Every inch of her was corded with muscle, a warrior’s body. There were countless scars on her chest, her legs, her arms. Some of the scars, Clarke knew the story of, other’s she didn’t. They were a map of war and pain and survival. The markings of a warrior.

All Clarke wanted to do was worship every inch of Lexa’s body. And so she did. With her tongue.

She followed the lines of the scars, the black ink of her tattoos, leaving a trail of bruises that went down from her neck to her breasts and the V of her hips. Lexa’s body tensed in anticipation and then Clarke dipped her tongue into the wet depth that lay between Lexa’s thighs, drinking in the sweet taste. She sucked on the skin, carefully bit the sensitive flesh. Lexa moaned, a sound that equalled an animal’s roar, deep and vicious.

Lexa grabbed a bunch of Clarke’s golden hair, pulling her closer, closer, closer. “Fuck”, she groaned. “ _Fuck_.”

Clarke parted Lexa’s legs further and pushed one finger inside her. Lexa arched her back, urging Clarke to go deeper. And she did, curling her finger just a little bit.

It didn’t take long until Lexa went over the edge, her face so delicately showing every reaction, the pleasure tearing through her.

Clarke sat up, licking her lips. She grinned at Lexa, who grinned back as she crushed into the bed, giving in to the exhaustion.

“Looks like we’re even”, Clarke said.

Lexa shook her head, smiling. “We’ll see about that.”

Clarke suddenly found herself on her back, Lexa on top of her.

Lexa cocked her head to one side, throwing her hair over her right shoulder, and grabbed Clarke by the wrists, pinning her arms above her head. Her fingers slit higher, their hands locking.

Their lips met. Arousal was already spreading in Clarke’s body, making her greedy. Their tongues moving in a familiar dance and she deepened the kiss, just as Lexa kicked her legs open. She removed on hand, letting it glide down Clarke’s arm, her waist and straight to the wet depth below. Clarke groaned into her mouth.

Lexa’s hands were strong and scarred and yet moved with such loving care, like she worried about hurting her. Her fingers were long and delicate, and each swirl over sensitive skin, each precise increase of pressure on flesh, was glorious in its expertise. Lexa was a goddess with her mouth but oh, her _fingers_. Clarke moaned deeply.

Her free hand found Lexa’s back instinctively and her nails dug into the skin there, the black ink that told stories just as much as the scars.

Lexa reacted to the flash of pain by pushing two fingers inside Clarke. Two fingers, enough to make her squirm by the sudden wave of pleasure that rushed through her body.

She grew desperate, then, as she tried to adjust her movements to those of Lexa’s fingers. With her free hand, she grabbed Lexa’s behind and Lexa grinded her hips against hers. Lust was already darkening her vision and when Lexa inserted another fingers, she threw her head back into the fur and moaned and moaned and moaned.

Fingers shaking by the overwhelming pleasure, she still managed to find Lexa’s entrance, the wet and aching flesh, dripping with arousal. Clarke pushed in two fingers without warning, swallowing the groan that escaped the other girl’s lips. Lexa liked it slow, but precise. She liked smooth swirling, and a constant increase of pressure on just the right spot. And Clarke gave her exactly that. Even if the lust was making her hazy, even if she felt like her mind was being shredded to pieces by each thrust of Lexa’s fingers. She gave Lexa exactly what she wanted, what she needed, and more.

The sounds of pleasure coming from Lexa’s mouth became louder, more heartfelt, more _desperate_. The animal inside her was beyond control. Seeing Lexa like this, unleashed in her arousal, was enough. Their kisses had become shared breath, their movements brutish in desperation.

Pleasure building up, Clarke curled her fingers, thumb softly circling the clit. Lexa cried out her name as the climax hit her, but thrust into Clarke one last time, sending her over the edge. The orgasm was brutal, but a salvation nevertheless, and it tore through her like a hurricane, until she no longer remembered her own name.

Lexa collapsed on top of her, as the last waves of the climax washed through her body, bringing the long-desired satisfaction of utter relief.

The quiet that followed was peaceful. The silence after the storm, the sudden, brutal awakening, the return to reality. Clarke realised, then, that she had forgotten everything else: The war, the men that wanted to burn their supplies, the single combat. Everything had drowned in pleasure and desire.

But now it all came back. And Clarke almost felt something like – fear? Fear for Lexa’s life, for what could happen if Bellamy didn’t kill the men, if Lexa did not win the single combat.

“What’s wrong?” Lexa asked, rolling off Clarke’s body. Her eyes were clouded with worry.

Clarke bit her lip. “Be careful tomorrow, alright? Don’t be cocky, don’t be arrogant. Whoever your opponent is, kill him swiftly and without mercy.”

The expression on Lexa’s face was unreadable as she said, “Of course I will. I’m a warrior.”

“I need this war to be over, okay? I’m so –“ She hated the sound of her own voice, hated how pathetic she sounded. “I’m worried. And I’m afraid.”

“So am I.” Lexa pulled a blanket over both of them, not bothering to get dressed before she embraced Clarke, snuggling into the curve of her shoulders.

Clarke kissed the parting of her hair. “I want go home”, she said and Lexa held her hand, and for the moment, that was enough.

 

***

 

They awoke to the sound of gunshots. Dawn had just kissed the world, welcoming the day with silver light and a gentle breeze. Clarke and Lexa got dressed quickly, helping each other with putting on their armour and cloak, before they stepped out of their tent.

Bellamy was marching towards them. He was unharmed and so were his men. He bowed before Clarke and Lexa. “There were six of them”, he said, rising. “Five are dead. The other one we sent back to the camp with your message to the king.”

“Good”, Lexa said, smiling. She had grown to like Bellamy.

“You are going to be the one to fight”, Bellamy said. Not a question, but Lexa still nodded as an answer. “And you will win.” Another nod. “If they accept, the war will end with this fight. We will finally go home.”

There was longing in his voice, and Clarke understood it all too well. He cared too much. He cared too much about everyone else, about Octavia, about their friends, about her and Lexa. Clarke knew the feeling, the fear. This fight would determine their future; it would be their ticket back home.

It all depended on Lexa.

“I will bring our people home. I will bring them peace”, Lexa promised, her voice firm. Bellamy inclined his head, before he turned around and left.

“If I don’t win today”, Lexa said, quietly, for only Clarke to hear. “If I die–“

“You won’t.”

“There is a chance that I will. And I need you to be prepared.” Clarke shook her head, and Lexa took her by the shoulders. “You are a queen. And if I die, then I need you to move forward.” They had talked about this before, when this war had started, and even if Clarke understood the importance of it, she didn’t want to think about it. “Our people are the priority. If I die, you will have to follow the contract of this combat.”

Clarke almost laughed at that. What a hypocrite Lexa was sometimes. She knew that if she were the one to die, Lexa would not give a damn about the contract, about her promises. She would burn the world to the ground, if she had to. She would not stop until she had slaughtered every one of their enemies. And yet she replied, “I promise you that I will. I will honour the contract and I will make sure that our people are safe, even if we lose this war.” Then she held out her hand to Lexa. “Come on. I will braid your hair for the fight”, she said and Lexa followed, smiling, as if they hadn’t just talked about her death, as though she wasn’t about to fight one of the most important battles of her life.

 

***

 

They announced their arrival with trumpets and war drums. Over a hundred people marched into their camps, armed heavily and with hostile looks on their faces. They despised them for the mere fact that they had to accept their offer to fight in a single combat. The king led his men through the camp. He was dressed in armour of gold. A long, white cloak hung over his shoulders and in his belt he carried various weapons. He was tall and beneath the clothes one could see thick muscles in his legs and arms. He would be the one to fight Lexa. Clarke knew it, even before one of his men announced it. There was something about the smug expression in his face, the hunger in his pale eyes and the way he looked at Lexa, like he were a predator and she was his prey.

“The king will compete against your champion”, one of the man said. “Before the fight begins, he wishes to discuss the terms of this contract.”

It was Lexa who spoke. “Let us talk, then.”

The king grinned at her, baring his yellow teeth. “After you, girl”, he said, voice rough and deep.

 _Girl_. If Lexa was bothered by the word, she didn’t let it show. She led the king into the tent. Clarke followed.

The king listened, as Lexa told him their conditions. They would fight in the ring. No outsider was allowed to help. There would be no breaks, even if one was injured. When one of them was dead or surrendered, the fight was over, and so was the war. They would each retreat with their armies. Negotiations about a treaty would start immediately. Both sides had to be taken into consideration when determining the terms of the treaty. However, the winner could mark the new border. The king grinned viciously at that. Clarke pointed at the map on the table in front of them. “This is where you said your continent ended. And if you win, this will be our kingdoms’ border. This one, do you understand?”

“Of course I understand, sweetheart.”

Lexa’s grip on her sword tightened. “Then do you accept the proposal?” she said through gritted teeth.

“I accept.”

They signed the contract with their blood. The king stepped out of the tent, but Clarke held Lexa back. “This is not a man one makes contracts with. He will betray us as soon as he has the chance.”

“I know.” Lexa placed a kiss between her brows. “That’s why I will kill him before it gets to that.”

And with that, they returned to their people and prepared to fight.

 

***

 

Clarke rose from her throne, as Lexa and the king entered the ring. She held her breath, watching intently as they drew their weapons and took their sides.

Lexa had to win. She just had to.

Her dark hair was tied back in small braids. Clarke had plaited her hair, and she had helped Lexa put on her black armour, helped her tie the red cloak that hung over her left shoulder.

The light reflected in the freshly polished steel of Lexa’s sword. She looked at Clarke one last time, smiled and turned her attention back to the king.

Clarke swallowed the lump in her throat. “You may begin”, she said.

The moment she said it, the king lunged at Lexa with incredibly force, but Lexa stepped to the side, bringing her sword up and slamming it down onto the king. He blocked the attack, hard enough to sent Lexa stumbling.

She regained her balance, but was slapped across the face, a blow that threw her to the side. The king now brought down his sword, repeatedly, aiming for her chest, her exposed neck, her legs. Like a dancer, she avoided the blade, spinning left and right and swirling around, letting her hair fly. Where he was brutish, she was elegant, where he was intense, she was graceful. Yet, it was him who attacked her, who seemed to have the upper hand. But Clarke could see right through the illusion.

The king smashed Lexa across the mouth and she slammed into the dirt, spitting blood. He meant to impale her with his sword, right through the chest, but she threw herself to her left and aimed a hit at his legs. He cursed at her and she laughed, blood dripping down her chin.

And then the real fight began.

Lexa threw herself at the king, swirling around him, blocking each of his attacks effortlessly. She had needed the first minutes of the fight to calculate his style, his tactics. And now that she knew, she was ready to send him straight into the burning depth of hell.

Lexa fought with lethal strength and speed. Her sword was a part of her, an extension of her arm, moving with the same feral grace of her body. There was a flash of silver and then her blade found flesh. She cut through his arm like it was air and he cursed violently as he staggered back. Blood welled from the wound, painting the white of his clothing.

He barely had time to raise his sword before she was there again, attacking him brutally, swiftly, never once giving him a chance to catch his breath.

She was playing with him.

His defence was faulty; she could have struck a killing blow already. But instead she aimed for his legs, his arms, just to see him dance.

She was being cocky and everyone knew.

“What is she doing?” Kane hissed in Clarke’s direction. “Why hasn’t she killed him yet?”

A sadistic grin flashed across Lexa’s face as she sent the king flying with a well-aimed kick to his chest, followed by to blows to his face. Bones shattered beneath her knuckles, blood spattered onto the dirt.

“I don’t know”, Clarke whispered. But she did.

Lexa was having fun. She was having the time of her life. She was playing with the king to send a message to his people. They all knew she was going to win, they had known in from the moment she had laughed in his face. This was merely a demonstration of her skill, to show them what she was capable of. And to warn them of what would happen to each one of them if they messed with her and their kingdom.

It was brilliant. Clarke loosened a breath she had been holding for too long.

Lexa smashed the handle of her sword into the king’s face. With a cry of pain he dropped his own weapon and went crawling through the dirt to get away from her. Swaggering, Lexa followed him, picking up his sword on the way, just to drop it next to him.

“Get up and fight”, she said.

His fingers shook as he reached for the weapon. He brought the blade up, but she kicked it out of his hand. Wrath flamed up in his eyes. “Just end it, you bitch."

“Where would be the fun in that?” Lexa said, grinning, and slammed her sword into his foot. The king screamed in agony, as she pinned him to the ground with the blade. “This, however”, she continued, pulling out the sword and thrusting it into the other foot. Through his boots, his flesh, his bones. “This is _fun_.”

The king was still screaming when Lexa ran a finger through the blood on her blade and watched as it dripped off her nails. It wouldn’t have surprised Clarke if she’d licked it.

The king stared at her in horror. His men had gone silent, tensely waiting for what Lexa would do next. Everyone seemed to hold their breath, watching every movement in terrified anticipation.

Lexa’s lips curled back and she snarled at the king. “Now I will finally make you pay.” She stepped between his legs, blade stoking his calves, his thighs, and he whimpered in fear when she aimed it a little higher, where his manhood was hidden beneath his armour.

The world went silent.

And then –

“I surrender!” the king cried out. Cold sweat glistered on his face. “I surrender!” Lexa sighed in disappointment and Clarke wondered how much of it was for show and what wasn’t. “As you wish.” She bowed low, mocking him, before she dropped her sword and turned around, facing Clarke.

 _You did it_ , Clarke’s whispered, so quiet no sound left her mouth.

Lexa smiled at her. The heartless warrior she had played just a moment before was gone. _We did it,_ her lips formed.

The world seemed to slow down, then. Clarke’s eyes moved only slightly to the left, long enough to catch the flash of silver. The king had picked up Lexa’s sword. And with the last energy left in his broken body, he pushed himself to his knees and to his feet. Clarke just stared at him, stared at him in disbelief, unable to react.

He drew his arm back and brought the blade forward.

Instinctively, Clarke jumped to her feet. Her reflexes were faster than her words, and before she really knew what she was doing, she had a knife in her hand and threw it with violent force.

It hit the king’s wrist, exactly where she had aimed it. The king let out a cry of pain, just as Lexa spun around. The sword fell to the ground, but the knife stuck in the king’s wrist, impaling him.

“What the –“, Lexa said, but Clarke already strode past her, determinacy written on her face. She drew a blade from her belt. The king staggered back, fear and anger holding him upright despite the wounds in his feet, and he pulled the knife from his wrist.

“Clarke –“, Lexa said.

“No. Let me do this.” And with these words, she lunged for the king.

She may not have been as skilled at Lexa, but Lexa had taught her how to fight, how to kill, and right now that was all she wanted to do. That bastard had tried to stab Lexa in the back like some pathetic coward. Lexa. Her Lexa. Oh, she would make him pay.

Her fist found his face, crushing the remaining bones there. She savoured the pain of the impact, the feeling of her knuckles splitting. She struck him again, and again. And again. He didn’t fight back. But she wanted him to. She wanted this to be a challenge.

“Pathetic”, she spat. “You are a worthless excuse for a man.”

That seemed to motivate him.

He backhanded her across the face, hard. She hadn’t anticipated the blow, but she welcomed it. It only fuelled her anger, making her stronger. “Stupid bitch”, he snarled. As an answer, she rammed her knee between his legs. Howling, he grabbed his abused manhood and she punched him again. It felt good, so _fucking good_.

Everyone was watching her. She could feel their eyes on her. But she didn’t care.

The king fell to his knees and this time, his surrender was silent. A surrender to death. He had broken their agreement. Death would be the punishment.

Clarke picked up her blade again, testing its weight. “ _Yu gonplei ste odon_ ”, she said and slit his throat in one swift movement. The king’s pale eyes widened. Blood welled from his mouth, his neck. The sight was vulgar, but Clarke didn’t look away. His massive body hit the ground. Blood gushed from the wound, red painted the earth. It was over.

Clarke looked up and her eyes found Lexa. And everything else melted together, one muffled mess of sound and colour. Clarke walked towards her without really realizing it, and then they stood in front of each other. So close.

“We won”, she whispered, for no one else to hear. Just Lexa. Lexa, the only person she had ever truly loved. Loved so much it ached in her heart, her soul. It was a love that went to much deeper than what she had felt for Finn; a love that would last to all eternity, through pain and sorrow and death, till the end of time.

Cheers erupted around them. People embraced each other in relief, weapons were raised to the sky, drums of victory were played once again. But this time, it was truly and definitely over. They had won the war.

Clarke barely noticed any of it. She took Lexa’s hands in her own, caressing the scarred skin, and they stepped even closer. Their noses were almost touching. Clarke could hear Lexa’s heartbeat, a few paces to fast.

And when they kissed it tasted like freedom.

They no longer cared about who saw them. They were the queens of this nation and they were in love. Together, as one, they had won this war. They had brought peace to their people.

“I love you”, Clarke said, voice thick with emotion.

“I love you, too”, Lexa said softly.

They kissed again and their people cheered for them, cheered for their queens.

Queens of Fire and Ice.

“What now?”, Clarke asked, when they loosened the kiss this time.

“Now”, Lexa said, with a smile that set her eyes on fire, “we go home.”


End file.
